


The Whole of the Moon

by Rroselavy



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/pseuds/Rroselavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When pirates separate Caleb from his beloved father, he is set on an adventure that takes him full circle. Along the way, he learns to live again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whole of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [despina_moon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=despina_moon).



> With much love to animom, whymzycal, and kispexi2 who worked tirelessly with me to beat this beast into submission. Thank you all so much!

It was a clear, moonless night. The sea was calm; the stars reflected on its surface, skittering about like fireflies. Caleb tilted his head back and looked up at the sky until he was dizzy, until he imagined that he was falling into the heavens. He steadied himself, tightening his hands around the polished rail of the ship. He closed his eyes and listened to the creaks and soft groans of wood and rope as the deck rolled gently beneath his feet.

The breeze was light, and it would have been enough to take them into port, but Colt, the ship's master and Caleb's father, had unexpectedly ordered the sails furled and the anchor lowered for an impromptu onboard celebration for the crew. They'd managed the round trip to China in near-record time, and the hold was heavy with exotic teas and spices. When they unloaded at the wharf in San Francisco in the morning, there would be a generous payoff for each and every one of them.

"The weather is perfect for our last night at sea, isn't it, Cal?"

He felt Colt's shoulder brush against his and stood a little taller. He opened his eyes and peered out at the horizon. The lights of the harbor illuminated the east. He turned to his father and nodded. At fourteen, Caleb was nearly the same height as Colt and, while they both had hair a similar color of pale blond, Caleb's formed a shaggy mop with bangs that fell into his eyes. Colt's, though, other than the wispsthat framed his face, was always neatly pulled into a yard-long braid.

"It is, Father," he replied, then looked off toward the eastern horizon.

"Tomorrow, you'll steer her in."

A flush of excitement washed through Caleb, though nothing about his demeanor changed.

"If you think I'm ready."

The last few runs they'd made, Colt had let Caleb man the helm for long stretches, but only during the daylight hours on calm seas. Other times, though, he'd stood beside Colt -- on moonless nights much like this night, as well as lashed to the wheel during gale storms. It wasn't so much that Caleb wanted to be a sea captain as much as he wanted to be near his father and to follow in Colt's footsteps. He was never more content than when Colt's eyes shone on him proudly.

Colt chuckled. "You're more than ready; you'll have your own ship and crew soon enough." Caleb felt Colt's hand on his shoulder. "There's more to life than this ship, Cal. You need to seek your own destiny."

But he didn't want that. What he wanted was to stay on with Colt, to sail at his side. The sea held no interest for him beyond the moments of solitude it afforded him and the opportunity to spend time with his father.

"Cap'n! There's a ship on th' horizon, starboard-side! It's bearing down on us!" cried the boy serving as night watch. Colt strode across the deck to his spyglass and pointed it toward the west. Caleb joined him.

"Should we pull anchor?" he asked.

"We don't have enough time," Colt replied, his gaze intent. "That's unusual …" he added, then abruptly he stepped back.

"What is it?" Caleb asked. Colt's tension was contagious.

Colt grabbed him by the shoulders. "Wake the crew!" Caleb only looked at him, for the moment, unable to move as he became more alarmed at Colt's behavior. "Go on now, hurry!" He shook Caleb firmly, prodding him to move. As Caleb raced fore to the crew's quarters, he heard Colt calling up to Nathan, the ship's watch, urging him down.

Caleb came back to the deck as fast as he could, breathless from rousting the crew, dread settling over him as he saw what Colt and Nathan had been up to, both of the ship's pilot boats had been deployed into the water. The men began to assemble on deck, and the sluggishness from too much drink and bleariness from being awakened in the middle of the night dissolved as Colt apprised them of the situation.

"We aren't going to fight. I won't lose even one man over our cargo. No amount of money is worth the risk." His tone was clipped and it signaled that he would hear no differing opinion. He ordered the crew, including Caleb, to vacate. The other ship, which had been little more than a dot on the horizon, had gotten close enough that they could make out a pirate's flag.

"I won't leave you behind," Caleb cried as Colt pushed him toward the rope ladder. The dismay had built inside Caleb to an overwhelming sense of doom.

"I'm not going to fight them, Cal, but it's better this way." He pulled the pendants that dangled from his neck out from under his shirt. On each chain hung an ornately carved silver key. Colt slid one over Caleb's head. "They can't get hold of them both!" he explained hurriedly. "You need to go, Cal -- get away from me! All our lives depend on it!"

Caleb had never thought much about the keys and had only half-believed Colt's fantastical tale of their true meaning. But now he was hit squarely with the realization that they were as precious as Colt had made them out to be -- so valuable that he would risk his own life in order for them both not to be taken.

Caleb clung to Colt tightly, tears sliding down his cheeks. "Please, Father, don't make me go."

Colt held Caleb's face in his hands and thumbed away the wetness. "It will be okay. Go to San Francisco with Corbin. I'll meet you there as soon as I can." He kissed Caleb on the forehead. "I'm depending on you -- now go!"

A blast shook the timbers of _The Whole of the Moon_ and, for a split second, the deck slid out from under Caleb's feet. It was only Colt's iron grip that kept him from falling into the inky sea.

"Corbin," Colt ordered, "take him to my sister's!" Then he turned to Caleb. "The ladder, NOW!" He forced Caleb over the side, and Caleb grabbed blindly at the lines. Colt turned his back on him and started to walk toward the looming silhouette of the pirate ship. Caleb reached for Colt's long braid and missed. Unbalanced, he slipped down the ropes a few rungs before catching himself. His heart pounded against his ribs and tears blinded his vision when he looked skyward.

"Father!" he called out desperately. Hands grabbed for Caleb as he clung to the ladder; he held fast to the rope, in one last attempt at defying Colt. Above him, he could hear the clatter of boots on the deck and the sound of small-arms fire. He tried to call out again, but someone's hand wrapped around his throat. Corbin's face appeared next to him, his eyes obscured by the lenses of his glasses.

"You might want to die, you little brat, but the rest of us want to live!"

He was yanked forcefully from the ladder and fell hard into the boat, the drop knocking the wind out of him. By the time he recovered, the men rowing had put a sizeable distance between the boat and the ship.

* * *

Colt never returned to San Francisco.

Caleb waited at the wharf for five days, shunning food, water, and shelter, until he was weak and feverish. On the sixth day Corbin found him, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him, semi-conscious, to Colt's sister's boardinghouse in the Barbary Coast section of the city.

"Where are you going, Corbin?" he asked through a fevered haze when he was deposited on his Aunt Bertha's doorstep and Corbin made to leave.

"To find Colt," Corbin growled.

Colt had taken Corbin on as the ship's doctor. Even as their healer, though, most of the crew lived in fright of him; there was something about Corbin that inspired a deep, visceral fear. His eyes were so dark they seemed fathomless and their expression, soul-less. Many of the men would have sooner let a wound fester to the point of forced amputation than submit to Corbin's strange mix of medicine and shamanism, were it not their faith in their captain's judgment.

Corbin's respect toward Colt seemed genuine, too, but that didn't extend beyond their little circle of two; he hardly spoke to any of the other members of the crew and, when he did, his tone was barely civil. He especially disliked Caleb, though Caleb supposed Corbin had his reasons.

One night Caleb had awakened alone to strange sounds outside the cabin he shared with his father. The sounds were unnerving in the quiet hush of the night –- grunts and groans, as if someone were moving something heavy across the ship's deck. Peering out a porthole, in the faint light Caleb saw his father leaning over the ship's rail. He climbed out of his bunk to fetch him back to bed. It wasn't unheard of for Colt to nod off after his watch on deck, rather than make it back to the cabin they shared.

The noises were louder on the open deck than Caleb expected, but what was more strange was that they were coming from Colt's direction.

"Fa--" the word died in his throat when he'd realized that Colt wasn't alone; he was standing behind Corbin. Their legs were naked and pale in the dim light, their pants formed dark pools about their ankles.

"What the--" Corbin hissed, but Colt cut him off.

"Shhhh!" Colt turned his face toward Caleb. "It's all right, Cal. Go back to sleep," he said evenly, as if he were only smoking his pipe or enjoying a particularly beautiful moonrise. Dumbfounded, Caleb only nodded his head and back away.

"That boy needs a thrashing!"

"Nonsense, Corbin. I told you all your caterwauling could wake the dead! We should have been more careful."

"What if he says something?"

"He won't."

Of course he wouldn't. Nothing could change how much he loved his father.

After that night, Corbin had become even colder towards Caleb. Caleb, though, had only been left with a vague sense of disgust toward himself; when it had registered that Colt was buggering Corbin, it had made Caleb's nether regions hard. There was also the greater sense of bewilderment that Colt had anything to do with Corbin -- especially _that_. The images of the two of them together stayed with Caleb, though, and he would stare at Corbin surreptitiously -- a sidelong glance during meals or when they were on deck -- trying to see him through Colt's eyes. Caleb could admit that Corbin was attractive in a dangerous way, and the spectacles he wore did nothing to diminish that. If anything, they softened the hard set of his mouth and his cool, predatory glances.

Caleb reached for Corbin and grabbed his arm. "Take me with you, then," he pleaded weakly. "Please?" he added, trying not to sound too pathetic. There was no reason in the world for Corbin to agree, but in his near-delusional state, Caleb thought he might.

Corbin shook him off easily and snorted. "So I can hold your head over the side while you heave up your guts?" Heat burned Caleb's cheeks. He couldn't help that he got seasick each time for the first few days of sailing. Colt had said it was the luck of the draw -- some people needed a few days out at sea to acclimate.

"I want to find him, too," he said stubbornly. Corbin knocked on the door forcefully, rattling it against its frame. Caleb swayed unsteadily and felt himself pitching forward, saved from a sure fall only by Corbin's arm. The key Colt had given Caleb slipped loose from the confines of his shirt.

"What's this?" Corbin asked, reaching for it.

Caleb snatched the key out of his grasp and stuffed it back under his collar.

Corbin's eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened to a thin frown. "He gave it to _you_," he snarled and stepped back, leaving Caleb floundering until he grabbed one of the posts that held up the building's porch roof.

He remained silent. Colt had been ready to give his life for the safety of the key, and Caleb wasn't about to betray his trust now, not even to someone Colt looked upon as a friend, or whatever Corbin was supposed to be to him.

"This changes everything," Corbin said softly before he shook himself and glowered at Caleb. He straightened his back. "Grow up, kid, before you come looking," he sneered as the door swung open, revealing a handsome woman with dark ringlets cascading down to her waist. Caleb's blush deepened when he realized that the dress his aunt wore was transparent. He caught an eyeful of her well-endowed chest before he dropped his gaze to the rough-hewn planks below his feet.

"Colt said you'd look after the boy," he informed her.

"You're kidding, right?"

"I'm merely the messenger, Bertha," he replied sharply, turning on his heel. Before Bertha could reply, he'd vanished into the dusk.

Bertha's business and pleasures left her little time to tend to an adolescent boy, nor did Caleb's effeminate features predict a happy future for him in the gritty neighborhood that surrounded her boardinghouse. The Barbary Coast was rife with lowlife -- thieves, prostitutes, cutthroats, and an array of petty criminals -- who preyed upon each other and the sailors who frequented the taverns and drinking holes. An unescorted fourteen year-old with corn-silk blond hair and the face of an angel proved to be far more tempting than the finest opium in Chinatown to some of the most unsavory characters.

In the first week of his stay with his Aunt Bertha, Caleb had been the target of three attempted abductions, saved only by the martial arts that Colt had taught his crew to pass the time during the long weeks of sailing across the Pacific. The first two attacks had been minor scuffles; Caleb had been able to escape with a couple of well-placed punches and then running away. The third one, though, had been far more serious. He'd been cornered in a blind alley by three oafs -- each more brawn than brains, but dangerous nonetheless.

"Just give it up, laddie, an' we'll go easy on ya," one man had cajoled with a grin full of rotten green teeth. Caleb didn't need much imagination to figure out what he was getting at. Out of the corner of his eye, he tracked his second assailant as he tried to sneak in behind him. Caleb fought them like a demon—he hit the nearest man with a knife-hand chop to his neck and spun, snapping his leg out at the last second to catch Green-teeth in the jaw with a satisfying _crack!_ The next voice was raised in alarm:

"He fights like a Chink!"

"Maybe he works for one. Maybe he's not so innocent as he looks," the third man leered.

"Is that it, boy? Do ya need some opium for your troubles? I've got something far better for you to suck on."

A steady stream of insults and explicit descriptions of what he'd be put to use for when they got their filthy hands on him brought Caleb's anger to a boil. He narrowed his eyes and dug in defiantly. He realized he couldn't beat them on strength alone; he needed a strategy. For all his threats, Green-teeth -- the ringleader -- was the weak link of the three. Caleb began to focus on him, making sure to dole out extra hits in his direction. If he could take him down, Caleb thought that the other two, bereft of their leader, would scatter. A well-aimed punch caught the fellow square on the nose and caused a red mist of blood. The man backed away, howling, leaving enough of an opening for Caleb to dash back to the boardinghouse. Caleb wasn't too surprised, then, when his aunt sat down opposite him at the breakfast table one morning, not more than a fortnight after he'd been placed in her charge.

"You attract too much attention, Sunshine; you're cramping my style," she explained matter-of-factly. He couldn't refute her logic; he'd been in three fights in as many days, and it was only a matter of time before the police would be called in to investigate. If they were diligent, they wouldn't have to dig too far to uncover Bertha's less-than-honorable living. And that would cost her pocketbook dearly. "I've arranged for you to go to boarding school."

He was still too raw from grief to protest her decision, so Caleb allowed himself to be foisted upon the brothers at St. Ignatius church.

He'd never had much use for religion; it had merely been one facet of the many superstitions sailors carried, but having no other vocation nor anyone to speak for him, Caleb fell under the tutelage of Father Joachim, a balding, bushy-browed Jesuit who smoked and swore and yet handled his motley flock with enormous compassion.

One day Caleb passed by Joachim, who was sitting in an alcove smoking a cigarette. He motioned for Caleb to come closer.

"I knew your father when he was a young man," he said. "His parents placed him in my care for his training." He took a long drag of his cigarette, and Caleb shifted nervously from foot to foot as the silence stretched.

"He wasn't really cut out for this life, though, he was far too carefree. No one thought Colt could raise a goat, and yet one day, here he was, cocksure that he'd be able to take care of a newborn!" Joachim chuckled. Then he looked Caleb square in the eye. "But he did. He showed us all."

Caleb had long known that he wasn't Colt's child by blood--Colt had told him he'd found him floating in a basket in a local creek. What Joachim related to Caleb, though, was that it had been while Colt and he were visiting one day, Colt had heard an infant's -- Caleb's -- cries among the bulrushes on the banks of a stream they were walking along.

From that day on, Brother Joachim became Caleb's surrogate father, and Caleb gave him the same respect and admiration that had been Colt's. Joachim also served as a touchstone for Caleb, a bridge that kept Colt alive in his memory.

All through his schooling and his training, Caleb held out hope that one day, when he least expected it, Colt would miraculously reappear at the gates of the school. His long blond braid would be shot with silver and a few more crow's feet would radiate from the corners of his eyes, but otherwise, Caleb imagined, he'd look just like the night he last saw him.

At some point, though, probably the day he put on his cassock and cinched the waist before making his journey back to the Barbary Coast, Caleb stopped deluding himself that Colt was coming back for him, even though he still didn't fully believe he was dead. Caleb's trek through the narrow streets in broad daylight this time was to take over a tiny congregation that Father Joachim had been assigned, ministering to sailors, prostitutes, and other citizens who lived and played in that section of the city. It had been nearly ten years since the day he'd last seen his father, and only days after Brother Joachim met his end at the hands of a band of marauders who'd been intent on stealing the congregation's meager alms.

Living among sailors brought back in full the dull ache of pain that Colt's disappearance had left, compounded now by Brother Joachim's murder.

Caleb didn't think he'd ever be fully healed until he found out for sure what had happened to Colt after stayed behind on _The Whole of the Moon_

His quest became to find out who had boarded Colt's ship that fateful night. Sailors confessed many things before shipping out, hoping that a clear conscience and good word from a priest could ease their passage through the Pearly Gates, should they meet their Maker before returning to port safely. But no one who crossed Caleb's path had any information on either Colt or _The Whole of the Moon_, or any of the crew for that matter. It was as if they'd all fallen off the edge of the earth.

Mindful of the way many of the men wandering the streets and alleys of the Barbary Coast leered at him, Caleb sought out effective deterrence and found it in the shape of a Smith &amp; Wesson revolver. He'd taken a liking to the gun the moment he'd spotted it in a pawnbroker's window. It felt perfect in his hand and gave him no small sense of satisfaction when he stared down the barrel and saw an expression of surprise-turned-to-terror in his sights.

The church itself -- known as The Star of the Sea -- could barely be called one, nor would it have ever been consecrated outside of the Barbary Coast. Caleb's outpost still bore the masts from its former occupation. Now, though, the tall columns served as timbers to support a peaked roof. The itinerant worshippers he ministered to didn't seem to mind, though, it probably served them well, reminding them of the life to which they'd cast their fate.

Given the unusual habits of the residents of and visitors to the Barbary Coast, Caleb often left the doors of the church unlocked overnight and shuttered them during the day when sailors and workers alike would be abed, sleeping off the revelry of the prior evening. He soon found himself tuned to the same nocturnal schedule, so he was particularly annoyed one day to be awakened by urgent knocks when the sun was still quite high in the sky.

The pounding was so insistent -- lasting through Caleb hurriedly dressing and pulling on his boots -- that when he opened the wooden entrance door, the culprit spilled inside, tumbling to the floor.

"Idiot," Caleb huffed, stepping over the prone form -- a boy from the looks of it and, judging from the worn denims in tatters above his boots, a sailor.

"'M' sorry, all right? Ya didn't hafta open the door like that!"

Caleb wheeled, and was momentarily shocked by the color of the eyes that scowled at him as the boy scrambled back to standing. They were the purest of gold; he'd only ever seen color like that once before -- years ago on board _The Whole of the Moon_ \-- in Nathan's eyes.

"You were knocking on it loud enough to wake up the dead," Caleb said, recovering. "What did you expect?"

"I -- I -- I dunno. I figured no one was home," he mumbled, casting his eyes to the floor.

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. "So you make it a habit to annoy people?"

The boy glanced at Caleb a little impatiently then looked past him up toward the altar. "Is the priest here?" he asked, craning his neck.

Caleb snorted and then rubbed his temples. "You found him."

His eyes were unnerving, and Caleb didn't like that they reminded him of his last night on _The Whole of the Moon_. He turned and walked toward the center aisle of the church and frowned. It was too run-down, and suddenly he felt slightly embarrassed by its condition. He wondered what it must have looked like through the kid's eyes, and that thought irritated him further.

"Wait up!"

He heard the kid's footsteps grow louder as he crossed the floor, and for a second Caleb wondered if it had been a mistake to have left his gun by his bedside. He turned and the kid stopped short behind him, but his momentum carried him into Caleb. He fell hard, landing on his hip. He winced in pain and then grunted as he broke the boy's fall. Something dropped to the floor and bounced. Caleb turned his head toward the sound.

It was an intricately carved key. For a few brief seconds Caleb stared at it, puzzled over its familiarity. He pushed the kid off him and reached for the chain around his neck, comforted momentarily that it was there intact. But then his blood ran cold.

It was Colt's key.

"Where the hell did you get that?" he growled. He grabbed the kid's forearm as he reached for the broken chain that was still looped through it.

"Hey! Leggo of me!"

Caleb held fast and tried to snatch the key with his other hand. A hard punch to his jaw sent him sprawling, stars bursting behind his eyelids. The kid clambered over him and grabbed the key, then raced out of the church before Caleb could pull his wits together to give chase.

By the time he reached the doorway, there was no sign of the kid. The street and sidewalks were completely empty. Caleb cursed, rubbing his jaw. The kid couldn't have been much more than a toddler when _The Whole of the Moon_ was attacked, but somehow he'd gotten hold of Colt's key. Caleb had to find him. He raced back to his room and grabbed his pistol.

He hit the sidewalks at a dead run. The Barbary Coast was a compact neighborhood -- encompassing about nine city blocks -- and he would search building by building if he had to. Many businesses were still shuttered; there really weren't too many places for the kid to hide. Some small part of his mind told him he was being unrealistic, but Caleb pushed all reason aside and let himself be driven by his emotions. Blind rage filled him to the marrow of his bones. He'd find the kid, find out how he got the key, and then make him wish he were dead.

An hour later, Caleb was winded and still empty-handed. He stopped under the shade of a scraggly tree and considered his options. His anger had ebbed and flowed as his frustration mounted, but during his fruitless search he'd come to the conclusion that harming the boy was out of the question. Colt would have never approved, even if it turned out that he'd died at the boy's hands. And Caleb was pretty sure that wasn't the case. If there was one thing he was good at, it was judging character, and, even though he'd just met him, Caleb could tell that kid wasn't a murderer.

He didn't have much time to find him, though. Chances were the kid would be shanghaied –- had probably been earmarked by some sharp crimp already. Which meant visiting brothels, gambling halls, and blind pigs later in the evening, or something equally distasteful but probably far less dangerous even for a priest with a gun -- calling on Bertha.

Caleb had done his best to avoid his aunt through the years, not only because of her provocative dress-habit and her cruel profession, but also because she never missed an opportunity to needle him about his looks, his calling, and even more personal matters. He steeled himself as made his way toward her boardinghouse. Bertha had her finger in every pie in the Barbary Coast, be it gambling, prostitution, or worse. She had runners and spies everywhere –- nefarious men who curried untold favors with her that Caleb couldn't be certain of, but was sure he didn't want to know.

And she had the audacity to sit in his church every Sunday looking as prim and proper as any of the Victorian ladies of charity who'd generously given to St. Ignatius in support of its Jesuit university, accompanied by her dandy of a partner, Jasper. In the front row, beaming at him like some doting aunt, no less.

"Nephew, what a nice surprise!" Bertha's greeting when she opened her door was dripping with honey. "Oh, is this official business?" she asked and, before he could reply, addressed him properly. "_Brother_ Caleb, please do come into my humble abode." She turned her back to him and disappeared into the parlor in a drift of gossamer fabric. Caleb followed reluctantly.

"Don't tell me you've come to save my soul, darling," she said over her shoulder before she sat down on a worn, red velvet-tufted armchair.

"No." He gritted his teeth, every nerve in his body rebelling that he'd stooped so low as to need a favor from the infernal woman. Not for the first time he tried to fathom how she could have been Colt's sister.

"I'm looking for someone with gold --"

"You're looking for gold? I've heard tell there's gold in all them thar hills, darlin'," she drawled, offering him a toothy grin.

"No," Caleb said. "This -- this … person -- he's a sailor -- has golden eyes." Caleb began to think it had been a bad idea to try and enlist her help.

"You fancy a salty dog?" she waggled her brows suggestively.

Caleb made a disgusted noise. "Have you seen anyone like that?"

"Oh, you know, darling, you see one seaman, you've seen them all," she chuckled. "Did this one take something from you? Your virginity, by any chance?"

Caleb clenched his jaw until it hurt. It was plain to see she was enjoying this, and he could feel the opportunity of finding the kid and getting answers slipping through his hands. For all he knew the boy had already been taken, or had already signed on to a crew and was being ferried out to a ship as they spoke. "He has something of mine, yes -- something … that was my father's."

Bertha's expression became serious -- almost stern -- before she spoke again. "Look at you, Caleb! Do you think this is the life Colt wanted for you? You're nothing but an old man in a young man's body." She eyed him appraisingly. "You're even wearing his clothes! You need to get the hell out of this place, _live_ a little, and let go of this hare-brained idea of yours." She waved her hand dismissively at her surroundings.

"What idea is that?" he asked, his voice tight.

"That you can get him back."

"That's not what this is about!"

"Please -- d'ya think I was born yesterday?"

Caleb could feel the pulse throbbing at his temple. "This was a mistake," he declared to no one in particular. "I'll see myself to the door." He turned and began to stalk away.

"Wait, sweetheart, why don't you describe your sailor to me in more detail?"

Caleb sighed and turned around. Bertha stood up gracefully and sauntered over to a side table. He watched as she poured two healthy glasses of an amber liquid from a crystal decanter. She offered him one of them.

"Come on, Cal, have a drink with your old Auntie," she smiled, "and tell me about this 'sailor.'" The familiarity of his shortened name made Caleb wince. No one had called him that since Colt. It weakened his resolve.

"Why the change of heart?" he asked before he accepted the drink.

"Your father entrusted you to me all those years ago, and I wasn't much of a help back then, was I?" She paced the floor briefly. Caleb watched her bare feet as they stepped over a heavy silk prayer rug; her soles only touched the lemon-yellow background. Caleb wondered if the fibers were soft between her toes. "I couldn't keep you here -- it was only a matter of time before someone caught you unawares and did something detestable to you."

It was an odd admission; Caleb had never had any sense that Bertha cared about him at all.

"But I thought when I put you in the care of the Church you'd make a beeline for the ocean, just like Colt did. You know he had no use for religion."

Caleb shrugged. It wasn't as if he had much use for it either. As far as he was concerned, religion was for feeble-minded men and women too weak to take responsibility for their own actions. And all that talk about the meek inheriting the earth was just to placate them, to keep the competition down. Not that those teachings mattered at all when gold was thrown into the mix.

"Neither do I."

"Now isn't that rich, coming from a priest," she laughed. "Drink up, and then describe this mysterious man for me," she added, clinking their glasses together. She raised her glass to her lips and Caleb did the same. The whiskey was bitter on his tongue and his first thought was to spit it out, but that would make a mess of things, so he downed it in one long gulp.

The alcohol hit him fast; almost immediately the room began to swim. At the same time, his limbs grew heavy and his weight unbearable. He tried to speak but his tongue felt too thick, and refused to cooperate.

"Yuh -- yoo --" he stuttered. He felt spittle dribble down his chin.

"It's all right, honey," Bertha lilted. "Someday you'll thank me for this."

The glass fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. Caleb crumpled after it; his last waking thought was that the rug was indeed soft.

* * *

It had been years since he'd been at sea. Even so, when he was awakened by a sharp kick in his gut with a pounding headache, Caleb could tell, even with his eyes screwed shut against a blinding sun, what the gentle roll beneath him meant.

He'd been shanghaied by Bertha.

Each movement was agony, and the voice haranguing him sent as many white-hot needles of pain behind his eyes as did the insistent toe-prods that punctuated it.

"Wake up, lazy dog, there's work needs doing."

"Hey! Can't ya tell he's sick?"

"That don't matter; everyone works aboard the _Star of the West_."

Caleb groaned weakly and dry-heaved. The prod became a kick to the ribs; he curled into a fetal position, only vaguely aware of the heated argument over his head.

"I said, leave 'im alone!"

"Gabriel, you need to calm down."

"I ain't gonna calm down!"

"You _aren't_ going to calm down."

"That's what I said!"

"No, you said 'ain't gonna.'"

Another kick landed, and the force of the impact rolled Caleb onto his back.

"Stop it!" There was a scuffle above Caleb. He opened his eyes and squinted against the sun. Two figures grappled in relief; the smaller one managed to push the larger one away from him. He looked down, and Caleb could see his eyes--they were gold. A flash of recognition passed over them before he looked at Caleb's attacker. Caleb followed his gaze and was hit with another bolt of recognition. He was one of the men who'd cornered him years ago. His stomach churned, and Caleb rolled to his side and vomited. His head throbbed. "I'll do his work 'til he gets his sea legs."

"Gabriel," the voice that had tried reasoning with him earlier spoke again, "you already do the work of two."

"S'all right. I can do it!"

Green-teeth snorted. "Then start by cleaning up his mess. Then report to me for more … chores." His smile became downright malignant; Caleb imagined he could smell Green-teeth's sour breath. He pointed at someone beyond Caleb's sightline. "You put him in the brig 'til 'e comes around."

Caleb expected to be manhandled, so he was surprised by the gentle hands that guided him to a tiny cell below decks. The hold smelled awful; he heard the rats scurrying around ahead of their footsteps. He could hear Gabriel mouthing off to Green-teeth and another voice chiming in, urging him to shut up. He didn't know why the kid had stuck up for him like that. Probably thought it would gain him a blessing or two.

"If you'll just step in … I can give you something for your head and stomach."

Caleb remained silent, but he stepped inside. He had half a mind to hit the guy, but he didn't have the strength. He was led to a narrow cot. The dim light was far kinder on his eyes than the bright sun and, when they'd adjusted, he looked at his companion. The other man seemed about his age. He had straight black hair, and Caleb detected the glint of a monocle.

"No irons?"

"I don't think you're much of a threat."

Caleb snorted. If he had his Smith &amp; Wesson, that assessment would change. He patted down his clothes, felt the key safely tucked underneath his shirt. Of course, the gun was missing, as were the clothes he'd been wearing when he'd gone to see Bertha. They'd been replaced by poor-quality sailor's togs.

"Christ," he swore.

"Is something the matter?"

"Where do you want me to begin?"

"I know your situation isn't optimal, but it would do you a world of good to make the best of it. The captain's fair -- a bit of a drunk -- though you should steer clear of his first mate, whom you just met, as well as the two other mates." Fingers massaged his temples. Caleb would have pulled away, except the throbbing stopped. "I'm Chance. I'm also known as Doc, because I'm the ship's doctor."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Gabriel has taken a shine to you, and he's a good judge of character." A wave of nausea doubled Caleb over, and he sat heavily on the pallet. "The sea-sickness will pass soon enough," Chance informed him. Caleb bit back a response. He didn't want them to know he was an able seaman; it would only make him more valuable as part of the crew. As far as he was concerned, he could spend the entire ordeal below-decks as long as he was left alone. "Meantime, I can get you something to settle your stomach and relieve the hangover--hair of the dog that bit you."

Chance closed the door behind him. Caleb listened to his receding footsteps and then to the furtive sounds of foraging rats. Caleb found rats to be disgusting, but unless they were desperately hungry or frightened, he knew they'd avoid the meager light he was bathed in. Waves broke against the hull, and he breathed in the salt from a fresh air current. It had a calming effect on his stomach but did nothing to blunt his anger and disbelief. He lay back on the cot and fumed. At best, it could be months before he saw San Francisco again; more likely, it would be years. And he would return penniless, or worse, in debt. Well, he'd exact his payment for this little adventure from Bertha's hide.

The jiggling of locks brought him back to his present predicament. Chance stepped in with a tray bearing a single mug. "Drink this; it will ease the stomach spasms and help you get some rest."

Caleb stared at it sullenly.

"I know you've no reason to trust me, but you need to trust someone if you're going to survive out here."

Caleb clenched his jaw but didn't move to take the cup, the memory of the last thing he'd drunk still too fresh in his mind.

"I'll just leave it, then. I'll come back to check on you later," he said, before leaving Caleb again. Quiet settled in Caleb's little prison, and he lay back on the bed to ride out his seasickness.

Above his head, Caleb could hear the sounds of everyday ship's life -- the sounds he'd grown up with -- the banter between the crew, the waves slapping against the hull, the wind flapping the sails. He felt an unfathomable, overwhelming sense of being alone.

Chance returned later that evening. He fed a bit of oil into the single lamp that illuminated the close space below deck in order to keep the rats at bay. He seemed a decent enough fellow, as did the redhead who introduced himself as Garrett and brought Caleb what passed for prisoner's food -- a rock-hard biscuit and cup of water. Later on, the first mate showed up and asked Caleb if he was ready to report to duty. He eyed Caleb curiously, as if he were trying to place his face. Caleb figured it would only be a matter of time before Green-teeth recognized him, and then all hell would break loose.

He refused to speak to any of them.

 

Sometime in the middle of the night, or perhaps it was pre-dawn, Caleb was awakened to the kid's voice out on the deck above him.

"He don't belong here!"

"Doesn't, Gabriel, _doesn't_." Caleb recognized Chance's voice, too.

"That's what I said --"

"However do you think anyone's going to take you seriously if you can't express yourself intelligently?"

"That's not th'point! He's a priest!"

In the silence that followed Gabriel's declaration, Caleb's blood ran cold. The little shit, why couldn't he keep his mouth shut?

"How do you know this, Gabriel?"

"When I disappeared, an' you guys were so angry with me because of it? I went to a church."

"You know, that was stupid of you -- you mini-monkey, you could have been shanghaied." Caleb recognized the third voice as belonging to Garrett.

"Shut it, you're the stupid one, ya stupid cockroach! I'm smarter than I look, an' it wasn't my ass Doc saved in that dumb poker game."

"It wasn't my fault the guy was cheating!"

"Ahaha, we've already been over this, Garrett. Gabriel's promised not to disappear anymore. And you've promised not to bet money you don't have. Gabriel, are you sure he's a priest?"

"He just about tol' me as much."

"Great, it figures you'd be pining after a priest," Garrett observed. Their voices were growing fainter; they must have been moving away.

"I am not _pining_ after 'im! 'E doesn't belong here!"

"_He_, Gabriel," Chance said patiently. "And, even so, he's stuck here with us for a while. "

"It ain't right!"

"_Isn't_ right."

"Ya know, ya can't just go saving every lost puppy you come across, monkey."

"'E-- _He's_ not a puppy. _He's_ a person."

 

He must have fallen asleep again because he was awakened by the scraping sound of a tray being slid underneath the cell door.

"Wakey, wakey, preacher-man!"

Caleb groaned. He was throat was parched, the skin on his face felt tight from sun-burn, his head still hurt, and his stomach was queasy. He squinted. Just outside the door was the redhead who'd brought him his meal the day before. He closed his eyes and turned his back to him. "Die."

"Keep refusing to work and it'll be your funeral, priest-y."

Caleb thought he'd be all right with that.

Days passed by. Caleb marked time's passage by the meals that were brought to him and the daily visit by the first mate, asking if he was ready for work. At first, frustration laced Green-teeth's voice, but soon he became downright ornery -- not that Caleb cared. He drank the water and left what passed for food for the rats.

All the fight left him as he considered for the first time that Colt was truly gone -- not just gone, but dead. There was no other way that Gabriel could have gotten hold of his key. Over the years Caleb had built up excuses as to why Colt hadn't come back -- he'd been imprisoned somewhere or stranded on a deserted isle, or maybe he had amnesia and was wandering aimlessly. They'd been more comfort than the reality he now accepted -- their common thread offering Caleb hope -- but now that was extinguished.

Toward dusk, Chance came by to check on him and change the slop bucket that served as a latrine. Caleb almost asked about Gabriel, but then decided he really didn't care.

"Your complexion is looking less green; you really should try to eat something. You'll need your strength."

Caleb only grunted.

The weather turned cold overnight and, unable to sleep, Caleb shivered in the thin clothes Bertha had left him with. A dim light appeared, and the air grew colder as a hatch from the deck above opened. Someone climbed down the makeshift ladder that had been nailed between two ribs of the hull. Caleb had spent hours contemplating the rungs, obviously added as an afterthought, perturbed that the third one from the bottom was closer to the rung below it than the rung above it. It spoiled the symmetry. It was something Colt would have seen fixed. He heard rats scurrying as someone approached.

"Hey, I brought you a blanket." Caleb shifted in the cot. It was _him_; Caleb recognized his voice. "Eww, rats!" There was a rustle of clothing followed by alarmed squeals. "I'll just push it through the slot." There was more rustling, and the cell-door rattled.

"My name's Gabriel."

"I don't care."

"I knew you were awake!" Gabriel exclaimed triumphantly.

Caleb shook his head. "Idiot."

"What's yours?" Caleb didn't answer. Gabriel persisted. "Your name. What's your name? I feel funny calling you 'Father.'"

"I'm not a 'father,'" Caleb replied, irritated. He didn't know why he was even engaging the kid. "I'm a 'brother.'"

"Priests are brothers, too?"

"I'm not about to discuss church hierarchy with a -- _monkey_ like you."

"Fine by me, I just wanna know what ta call ya." He could see Gabriel's eyes now; the gold seemed to luminesce in the low light.

"Don't bother." Caleb rolled on his side, his back to Gabriel. He felt his eyes boring into him.

"I just wanted to say I was sorry. Fah hitting you the other day."

Caleb ignored him.

Gabriel huffed finally, when it became apparent that Caleb was not going to talk anymore, and Caleb felt a small sense of satisfaction when he hoisted himself up the ladder and slammed the hatch. That victorious feeling soon gave way to an emptiness in his stomach, though. He still couldn't sleep. After a while, teeth chattering, he reached for the blanket and wrapped it around his body. It smelled relatively clean, and Caleb briefly wondered if the faint scent of sandalwood was from Gabriel's body.

Later, the ship rolled and pitched as they were buffeted by a storm. The hold became dank from the moisture in the air and the waves breaking over the ship's sides, and rats swarmed to Caleb's deck as water rushed underneath the floorboards. He didn't think his life could be much worse. He spent the night awake, huddled on the pallet, kicking away any rats any that got too close to him. He wished that he believed in a God to call upon in his time of trouble, but all the prayers he'd learned now seemed hollow on his tongue. But he realized sometime during the night that he didn't want to die just yet.

The morning brought a placid sea and Gabriel along with it, hefting a tray of food. His smile was bright and his eyes were wide; there wasn't a trace of trepidation about him. It was as if their other exchanges had never taken place. He put the tray carefully on the floor.

"I thought ya could use some of my rations instead of that stuff they've been feeding ya --"

"Why're you doing this?" Caleb asked suspiciously.

"Doing what?"

"Bringing me your blanket, giving me your food, your water –- helping me."

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno." He raised his eyes and locked them on Caleb. "I guess I just like ya."

Caleb snorted. "You should know better than to grow attached to someone; you'll only be betrayed anyway," he said bitterly.

"You don't like people much."

"Few have given me any reason to." He looked at the food Gabriel had passed him. It wasn't the hardtack he'd been left to gnaw on since he'd been put in the cell; it was salt-pork and lime wedges. His stomach growled appreciatively. Gingerly, he picked up a slice of the meat and bit into it.

"I brought ya some tea, too. Chamomile, for your stomach."

Caleb watched through the slats in the door as Gabriel set a small pot on the tray at his feet and slid it under the door. He stepped back, but Caleb could still see his face.

"They're gonna throw you to the sharks if ya keep refusing to work. Can't waste good food on someone who won't pull his weight."

"So what? If you hadn't noticed, I didn't sign up for this." If anything, they'd probably strand him on a deserted island or set him adrift -- that way all their consciences would be clear. "You know, you're not a good bluff."

Gabriel didn't argue that point. He only sighed. "Please eat."

"Why do you care so much?"

"I dunno," he repeated. "Why do you care about this?" He reached under his shirt and drew out the key.

"I dunno," Caleb mimicked, but the sight of the key suspended on the chain caused a stab of pain in his chest.

Caleb had wanted his mocking of Gabriel's voice to provoke him, but instead the kid just shook his head and looked at him sadly. "I know it means somethin' to you." He slipped it back under his shirt, then put his hand on a rung of the ladder and began to hoist himself up.

Caleb felt his anger rising. It was all that damned kid's fault he was in this situation. Before he could think, he blurted, "Where did you get it?"

Gabriel turned with ease and, still clinging to the board with one hand, smiled. The smile was disarming; a small voice in Caleb's head told him it was beautiful. "I'll tell you, on one condition." They faced off for a few seconds in tense silence. Caleb swallowed hard. His stubbornness would end up killing him, but before then, he wanted to find out what happened to Colt. In the end, Caleb figured giving up his name wouldn't be a bad exchange.

"All right, what is it?"

"You join the crew."

* * *

In one of Caleb's earliest memories he sat in Colt's lap, playing with the two keys that hung around his father's neck. Caleb liked the ringing sound they made when they were struck together; he liked to jingle them and listen to the random notes. He liked the fantastic tale Colt told about their meaning, too. Each key was unique, though it was apparent that they belonged together. Colt told Caleb that there were three more to the set; altogether they represented the five elements: earth, wind, fire, metal, and the void. The two in Colt's possession represented the earth and wind.

"There is a Loo-choo legend that the power that created the Earth and the heavens is locked in a pyramid at the bottom of the sea near the island of Yonaguni.

"If anyone were to obtain all of the keys, it's said that that person would have the power of a god -- the power to destroy this world and create one anew."

Caleb held the keys in his fist until the metal became warm. They didn't seem all _that_ special, and Colt often made up stories to entertain him.

"How come you have two of them?"

"Oh, it's not important how I obtained them, though I assure you, they were given freely. It's not even important why they were entrusted in me." Caleb leaned closer to Colt and laid his head against his shoulder. He closed his eyes and waited patiently for his father to continue. He tried to imagine what the pyramid looked like underneath the sea. Even if someone got the keys, how would they find where they fit? How long could a person hold their breath for?

"What's important is that they're safe here." Colt patted his chest, then ruffled Caleb's hair.

* * *

The ship might have been renamed, but when Caleb's eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he realized that he'd been reunited with _The Whole of the Moon_. He stood dumbfounded, wondering what kind of trick of fate would bring him full circle. He went through his first day as a full member of the crew numb to the scrutinizing looks that sized him up, reacquainting himself with the nuances of the vessel while silently executing each task he was given.

The ship was still very much sea-worthy although it was in a general state of disrepair. It hardly resembled the tight ship that Colt had commanded. Caleb frowned when he caught sight of sinewy dragon that was the ship's figurehead. Once painted in opalescent colors that shifted in the reflection of the sea and sky, it had been repainted in garish reds and greens.

This was his father's ship, and he hated what had been done to it.

He was awakened that night by the feeling of a body sliding onto his pallet behind him. Caleb had been assigned a berth with the rest of the crew in the communal cabin foredeck. Upper and lower bunks lined both walls, separated by a narrow corridor. Between the bunks, running perpendicular to the hull, lattices of boards formed screens, giving each man some modest privacy. Caleb was in a top bunk where the air was close, but he was also able to hide from prying eyes.

He rolled to face the intruder, his eyes widening with surprise when he recognized Gabriel. Before Caleb could speak, Gabriel clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Sh!" he whispered. "I came ta keep my end of the bargain." His voice was low, and Caleb strained to hear it above the gentle slap of the waves and the creaks and groans of the ship's wood.

Caleb's stomach turned. He'd waited years for word of Colt, and now that he'd met someone who may have run into him and, if he had, had probably witnessed his death, Caleb was no longer certain that he wanted his question answered.

Gabriel pulled back his hand and rolled onto his back. Caleb could make out his face in the dull, ambient light. He let his eyes rove over Gabriel's fine features -- his high cheekbones, and the slightly concave curve of his nose. In combination with his large eyes, it gave him an engaging, mischievous look. Caleb cradled his head in his arm. He felt the hard rise of Gabriel's shoulder pressing against his chest. A warm saline smell with an undertone of sandalwood perfumed the air, reminding him of the blanket Gabriel had given him. Their proximity now seemed stifling and brought to Caleb's mind unwelcome thoughts of the hard body hidden beneath Gabriel's clothes.

"Why did you come see me that day?" he asked before Gabriel could speak again.

"At the church?"

"Yeah, at the church." Gabriel's shoulder shrugged, dragging against Caleb.

The berth was fast becoming overly warm from their body heat. Caleb wanted to strip off his shirt, then he wanted to strip off Gabriel's shirt. His stomach fluttered, but this time the feeling was a pleasant one. He brought his lips to Gabriel's ear.

"Was there something you wanted to confess?" He was playing a dangerous game.

He felt Gabriel's body stiffen, and then he edged away from Caleb. He was making the kid uncomfortable. Caleb felt uncomfortable, too. He didn't expect to feel some kind of attraction towards Gabriel; he wanted to hate him. Instead, Caleb had an almost overwhelming desire to run his tongue over the shell of Gabriel's ear and then trace a path down his neck. He heard Gabriel swallow.

"Is it wrong to like guys?"

The night after he'd discovered Colt and Corbin's affair, Colt had sat Caleb down for a talk. He'd simply explained that for men such as himself, there were only two options –- priesthood or the sea, and he wasn't about to live in denial of his true feelings.

"If there is a God, he created me as I am, and if there isn't one, then I've nothing to be ashamed of now, do I?" The question had been pointed, a gauntlet thrown down to force Caleb to come to terms with what he'd seen, with the feelings that seeing Colt and Corbin in the throes of their passion had churned up in him.

Gabriel's question was a test, too, and as much as he wanted to be repulsed by what it meant, Caleb's heart beat a little quicker in his chest. He wanted to pull Gabriel against him, to cover his mouth with his own. But what Gabriel needed at that moment -- and what Caleb's training as a priest had taught him -- was counsel.

"Gabriel, you can't help who you're attracted to."

Gabriel's body relaxed a little. "But, is it wrong?"

Caleb thought about how happy Corbin had made Colt -- how _delighted_ he seemed when they were engaged in conversation. A twinge of old, long-forgotten jealousy prickled along his skin. Had Colt been wrong to find happiness with another man?

"No," he admitted finally, "I don't think it is."

Gabriel's reaction took Caleb by surprise. He closed the distance between them and briefly pressed his lips against Caleb's mouth. Caleb felt like he was unraveling; his body screamed out for more. He dug his fingernails into his palms.

"Sorry," Gabriel mumbled.

"No harm done," Caleb murmured, hoping it would be enough reassurance. He didn't trust himself to touch Gabriel.

"It was last year. We'd been battered by a huge storm, and I guess we were pushed off course. We came upon this tiny island an' I was sent out alone to find food." Gabriel's voice was quiet and steady; his breath puffed against Caleb's ear.

"Alone?"

"Yeah. But I wasn't scared! Anyway, th' captain thought the island was deserted -- it didn't look like anyone was living there."

"It was still incredibly dangerous."

"I can take care of myself, ya know."

Caleb was skeptical, but he didn't say so.

"I met a man there -- he was really nice ta me. He fed me an' let me stay with him for a couple of hours. He told me he'd been marooned there for years -- hadn't seen another person in so long that he thought he'd forgotten how to talk. He was really happy to see me."

Caleb's heart stuttered. "What did he look like?" He inhaled and held his breath.

"He had hair like yours, but it was really, really long. He wore it in a braid."

Caleb exhaled slowly. He wondered he would do if his worst fears were realized. "What happened to him?"

"I told him he should come with me, but he wouldn't. He said he was waiting for someone. Then he got a strange look in his eye and said that maybe I was that 'someone.'"

"And he just gave you the key?" Caleb asked carefully.

"Yeah, he did." Gabriel's voice sounded guarded. "How do _you_ know about the key?" he asked. "I mean, why were ya so mad when you saw it?"

Caleb contemplated not answering, but Gabriel had given him a precious gift. His mind raced -- a jumble of emotions -- he'd been right all along. He wasn't a fool. "That man you met. He's my father."

"Ohhhh …" Gabriel breathed out, almost reverently.

They were both startled by a pounding on the cabin door. The other crewmen stirred, too.

"Where's Gabriel?" a voice bellowed. The first mate's.

"Shitshitshit! It's Lewis!" Gabriel exclaimed. "I gotta go!" He slid out of the bunk before Caleb could react and headed toward the door.

"BOY! If you ain't out here by the time I count to three, there'll be hell to pay!"

"Gabriel." The kid's head swiveled around; his eyes were huge with worry. "Be careful."

"It's all right. I know what I'm doing." The implication of his words chilled Caleb to the bone. Around him, he heard snippets of hushed conversation.

"… Buggerin' bastard."

" … Keep his filthy mitts to himself."

Caleb didn't want to imagine what Gabriel was participating in. He wished then that he'd told Gabriel what he felt towards other guys was wrong. He didn't think it was possible to hate the first mate any more, but he did. Caleb slipped from his bunk intent on following Gabriel and interrupting them.

"Don't bother." A firm hand grabbed his left arm. Garrett. Caleb broke away.

"You knew?" he asked, his voice tight.

"We all know. I've talked to Gabriel about it, so has Chance. Stupid monkey has some misguided sense that he's keeping us all safe from the prick."

"I suppose you all --"

"Look, before you go judging us _all_, remember he's the law out here. Anyone runs afoul of him …" Garrett turned away from Caleb and removed his shirt. His back was a lattice of welts in various states of healing. "The bastard'll get his when the time comes," he said over his shoulder.

"Damned right, he will," Caleb agreed, his fury evident in his voice.

* * *After their talk had been cut short, Caleb still wanted to find out more about the island that Colt had been marooned on. If Gabriel could recall when the ship had visited, then he could check the ship's logs -- if there were any entries that recorded the event.

He managed to get Gabriel's attention during dinner the next evening. The boy had hovered over him, eyeing the food that Caleb merely picked at until he'd shoved his plate over.

"Careful, if ya feed him, it means he's yours ta take care of." Garrett waggled his brows.

Caleb glowered, which only earned mirthful laughter.

Gabriel, however, took greater offense. "I'm not kept like you," he growled.

"Oh yeah? Come here an' say that."

The argument grew in volume with other crewmen adding their own comments and egging them on until Chance ended it by quietly clearing his throat.

"Sorry, Doc!" Gabriel looked truly chagrinned.

"Yeah, man, we were just kidding around, right short-stuff?"

"Uh-huh!" Gabriel smiled broadly, and the stern façade that Chance had assumed cracked briefly.

Later that evening, Gabriel stole into Caleb's bed again. Caleb almost welcomed the nearness and he found his body drifting toward Gabriel's like a magnet to iron.

"I wasn't completely honest with ya last night," Gabriel started.

"What do you mean?" All the goodwill that had been building inside Caleb vanished.

"Your father … Colt … I remember his name now … 'e told me I would meet someone … someone who meant a lot to him … who he'd left behind. I think he meant you. An' I think I'm s'posed ta give this to ya." He reached for the chain around his neck.

"Did he tell you what the key was for?" Caleb asked. He grabbed Gabriel's hands and stayed them. Gabriel rolled onto his back, taking Caleb with him so that Caleb was partially pinning him. Heat prickled down his spine and pooled in his groin.

"He said when I found the right person, he'd tell me what it was for." Gabriel looked at him imploringly. "Take it, please! It belongs to you! I want ya ta have it!"

Caleb felt Gabriel's pulse racing in his veins; his own heart beat a frenetic pace to match. The key was rightfully his, but Colt had given it to Gabriel. Had he done so out of desperation? Was someone forcing Colt's hand?

"No, you keep it,' Caleb said. He felt Gabriel's ribcage rise and fall beneath him. He wanted to rest his head on Gabriel's chest and listen to his heart beat. "He gave me one, too. It's better if they're kept separated."

"What're they for?"

He liked that Gabriel hadn't jumped to any conclusions. "I'll tell you some other time. I have a question for you -- do you remember what day it was -- the day you met Colt?"

Gabriel nodded vigorously. "It was the equinox –- spring or, no, it was fall; we were still above the equator. Caleb? I have to go soon."

"How did you know my name?"

"He told me. I didn't remember 'til now. Caleb is a pretty name. Can I call you that?"

"Che. If you must," he said, feigning annoyance to counteract the pleasant way his stomach flipped when he heard his name on Gabriel's lips. Gabriel tried to wriggle out from under him. "You don't have to go."

"I do."

"He has no right," Caleb said angrily.

"It's all right," Gabriel replied brightly. "I know what I'm doing." Before he left, he pressed his lips to Caleb's again.

* * *

The rest of the crew called him Preacher. Caleb was fine with that. He easily fell into the menial tasks that were given to greenhorns -- swabbing the deck, caulking the boards, polishing the fixtures, and bailing water -- mindless work that served to while away the hours. They were all chores he'd done as a kid; Colt was of the mind that Caleb could never be a proper ship's captain unless he was intimately acquainted with even the most menial tasks. A man earned the title of master by starting at bottom. He felt muscles long forgotten grow taut as days turned into weeks. There wasn't much time for small talk, and Caleb was fine with that, too; the less he had to say to anyone, the less likely he was to give himself away.

He had forgotten how much he'd loved sailing, or maybe he'd never realized how much he'd liked it to begin with; he'd thought that his enjoyment had come from being in Colt's company, but now, once again under sail, he found a peace that he had not had since Colt's departure. Some of that he attributed to Gabriel's revelation, some he attributed to the weight of his calling being removed from his shoulders, and no small part was being back on _The Whole of the Moon_.

He took to wearing a bandana over his hair, mostly to hide its unusual color from the first mate. The cloth had been given to him by Chance when he'd been released from the prison as a temporary blindfold to shield his eyes from the high sun. He wasn't afraid of Lewis, especially since he had a good idea what he was doing with Gabriel. At the same time, as much as he wanted to stop Lewis from taking advantage of Gabriel, Caleb knew he couldn't let on about it. Lewis's word was law and if he felt threatened, he could make Gabriel's life so miserable that he'd wish he were dead. In his mind, though, over and over, Caleb plotted the first mate's murder.

Gabriel spent most of his time climbing the masts and spars, untangling lines and sails. He would climb to dizzying heights in seconds -- the air above the deck seemed to be his natural habitat. He was pure grace in motion, and Caleb often found himself with his chin tipped skyward, his eyes tracking Gabriel's lithe body, his belly fluttering pleasantly at his pleasing form. At those times, it was easy for Caleb to forget his vows of chastity.

Garrett was the ship's smith. He kept all the metalwork in good order and forged custom surgical tools for Chance. He also grated on Caleb's nerves, never missing an opportunity to say something ribald to him, to set his teeth on edge and bring them close to blows. Chance was uncanny at diffusing the situation, though, and gradually it became apparent to Caleb that their relationship was something more than crewmates. They both also kept an eye on Gabriel for what it was worth, though any night he was out of bed and not on watch seemed to put the entire crew on edge.

They were headed west, to the Orient. From careful eavesdropping, Caleb gleaned that they'd stop in China and India and then other ports as they circumnavigated the entire globe. As he'd feared, it would probably be years before he returned to San Francisco. His tiny congregation would have long forgotten him by then. Briefly, he toyed with the idea of abandoning the ship somewhere along the journey, but his white-hot anger at Bertha fueled his desire to get back to San Francisco anyway --that, and he wouldn't abandon Gabriel to the fate he was making for himself.

More often than not, at some point most nights, Caleb would be awakened to Gabriel's body pressing the length of his and, for some reason, he did nothing to discourage the behavior. On the nights Gabriel smelled of tobacco smoke, stale alcohol, and sweat, Caleb would gently rub his back, smoothing his palms over Gabriel's skin. Caleb heard the whispers of the crew behind his back, but the rumors didn't bother him. Though, when Lewis began to create additional chores to keep him and Gabriel apart, Caleb knew that he was on a collision course with the first mate.

A plan began to take shape in his mind. The captain was near useless. As far as Caleb could tell, he'd abdicated his power to his first mate and his course to the navigator, an albino named Drake -- who seemed more than competent at keeping the ship on course. None of the crew seemed particularly loyal to their master or his mates, though, that didn't necessarily mean they'd side with a mutineer -- especially one whom they hardly knew. He would need to recruit others.

One day, when Caleb had been ordered to clean the captain's quarters, he took the opportunity to page through the ship's log. Given the captain's usual inebriated state, Caleb wasn't optimistic that anything would have been recorded, but he had to be certain. He found the book after sifting through sheaves of paper and empty liquor bottles and dirty dishes. It was the same log that Colt had used; just seeing the cover raised the hair on the back of Caleb's neck. He swallowed as he gingerly lifted the cover. He was in luck. There, in the unfamiliar scrawl of the captain's hand, was an entry that coincided with Gabriel's remembrance:

_Sunday, 21st of September_

After surviving a gale of three days length, lande was spotted and I demanded we dropp anchor for repair. The ship's navigator reported the cordinates lay at 4.71° N and 160.76° W. I ordered the boye Gabriel ashore, fearing inhabitants maye be canibals. We had almost gave him up for lost when he reappeared, laden with green fruite which proved to be tastey and thus he avoided punishement. He reported seeing nary a soul on the islande during his foray.

Footsteps sounded outside the cabin door and Caleb closed the book hurriedly. He'd just managed to finish straightening the desk when the captain stumbled in, followed by the first mate. Caleb averted his eyes as he silently slipped by both men, but not before he endured an ominous leer from Lewis.

"Don't think I don't know who you are, boy. That bandana ain't disguising nothin'," he said menacingly before he closed the cabin door behind Caleb. Seconds later, Caleb heard hearty laughter erupt from within.

 

* * *

The cut wasn't deep; Caleb could see as much when Chance examined it. Mostly, it would be an annoyance as he worked. He felt foolish that he'd had the accident to begin with. Thinking about that damned monkey had distracted him; he was lucky the line he was tending to had merely broke through skin -- it could have taken his hand clean off. He watched disinterestedly as Chance fiddled with various apothecaries. He came back with a wad of gauze, but rather than use it to bind the wound, he began to swab Caleb's hand with it. Caleb looked around the cramped quarters and thought about a previous occupant of the cabin. He wondered, briefly, what had became of Corbin and the rest of Colt's crew.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed loudly. He would have withdrawn his hand, but Chance held his wrist fast. "What the hell is that?"

"Carbolic acid, it's been proven to be effective against gangrene."

Caleb exhaled a shaky breath as the sting dissipated. "Where'd you learn that?"

"In Glasgow. I attended university there."

He knit his brow. "You're a long way from home."

Chance regarded him carefully; Caleb got the impression that he was deciding something gravely important. "Aren't we all?"

Caleb thought about Chance's question. He wasn't, but he was reticent to admit that. On the other hand, he had to start somewhere. Before he could say anything, though, Chance spoke again.

"I hope you've no intention of hurting Gabriel."

"Hurting him?" he asked, incredulity building. "I think standing by while he prostitutes himself because of some misguided sense of loyalty --"

"We don't have much choice in the matter."

"Oh, really?" Caleb replied. "That's a comforting answer, isn't it, Doctor?"

"What would you have us do? There's no one capable of taking the helm on this ship except the first mate and his cronies." Chance dressed his hand and tied the bandage neatly. "I suppose you're offering him 'spiritual guidance?' Is that any better?"

"It's -- it's not like that," Caleb stammered.

"Your relationship -- whatever it's 'like' -- has attracted unwanted attention from Lewis, though."

"We have a history," Caleb admitted. "He's marking his territory."

"If I were a betting man, I'd say you were royally screwed."

"Not as screwed as Gabriel." Caleb thought for a few seconds before he broached the subject that had been on his mind almost as much as Gabriel. "Do you think the crew would stand behind a mutiny?"

"That depends," Chance replied. He ducked his head out of the cabin, then closed the door. "On how much confidence the mutineers could inspire." Caleb allowed a small smile. He hadn't expected to slip into this conversation so easily, nor did he miss the pluralization. "First and foremost is the issue of manning the helm."

Caleb nodded. "Let's just say -- hypothetically -- there is someone who knows this ship inside and out."

"He would need to earn the trust of the crew." Chance turned his back to Caleb and began to put his instruments away. "Or at least some of them," he said when he faced Caleb again.

Caleb met Chance's gaze. "A wise man once gave me some advice. Sometimes you just have to put your trust in someone if you're going to survive."

"I suppose we have to start somewhere."

Chance told Caleb about their history -- his, Gabriel's, and Garrett's. They'd all been friends since childhood -- each abandoned by their parents in favor of the lure of gold. They'd met in the orphanage at Mission Delores and had been inseparable ever since, except for Chance's brief departure to study abroad. He'd been the scholar of the three, and the Franciscan monks had found him a wealthy benefactor. Chance's reunion with Garrett marked the beginning of a romantic relationship and, much like Colt twenty or so years prior, they too took to the sea where they could live their life as they saw fit, only with Gabriel in tow.

It was Caleb's turn. By confiding in him, Chance had made his leap of faith, and Caleb knew he had to reciprocate if he were ever to gain hold of the ship. And so he told Chance everything; he had little to lose and even less to gamble with. When he left the doctor's office, though, Caleb was confident he had three co-conspirators whom most of the crew trusted and would defer to.

* * *

By Caleb's calculation they'd been at sea and traveling due west just over a month when the watch announced that land was in sight. Most of crew stopped what they were doing to gaze off the starboard side. Within minutes a bump appeared on the horizon. The prospect of landing energized the crew, and the general mood lightened immensely. As they drew closer, Caleb recognized the island as was Kaua'i, one of the islands of the Hawai'ian Kingdom. _The Whole of the Moon_ had often stopped there to take on provisions.

Caleb was looking forward to fresh water. His skin was raw from salt-water bathing and his clothes were stiff with dried salt. He knew of a waterfall that was only about a forty-five-minute hike through a dense rainforest. He toyed with the thought of inviting Gabriel along, but just when they were about to disembark on one of the skiffs, the first mate called Gabriel to his side. Caleb tried to get back on board the ship, but the smaller craft was already cutting through the water.

He seethed all the way to shore and then some more as he set off on the faint trail that he remembered from his youth. He should have been happy for the solitude, but his mind kept returning to Gabriel's downcast face and the smug grin that the bastard first mate had flashed at him. He'd wanted Gabriel there with him, wanted to watch him frolic in the clear pool. He'd wanted more, too. More than the closeness of Gabriel's body lying next to him in his berth at night and a chaste kiss every now and again.

The path leading through the forest was moss-covered. Caleb removed his boots and socks and walked on the cool green carpet. In the canopy above his head, myriad birds sang and chirped and flitted about between trees. The murmur of water cascading grew louder and louder until the trail ended at a tiny beachhead covered in black sand. The waterfall fell in several steps from a ridge about sixty feet above a crystal-clear pool. Caleb didn't bother to disrobe -- his clothes could use a cleaning just as much as he did. He dove into the water with them on, leaving his boots on an exposed slab of volcanic rock. It was a refreshing change from his warm, humid trek. He held his breath and ducked under the water and swam, much like he had as a kid, and, for a while, Caleb was able to forget his circumstances and just concentrate on the feel of the current sliding against his body. Some time later, he stripped his clothes off and set them next to his boots in the sun to dry, then returned to the water.

He swam toward the far end of the pool where the water was shallow and warmed by the sun, past a rock out-cropping that jutted into the water, when something caught on his ankle. There was a brief flash of metal -- just enough for Caleb to register there was another person in the water with him -- and then he was being pushed under the surface and held there. He struggled violently against the hands that held him fast, losing what little breath he had in his lungs. He gulped mouthfuls of water and felt dizzy. Darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision -- his nose and throat burned from the water, and his lungs ached.

Through a haze he heard an unearthly scream, and then the hand pressing on his neck lost its hold. Caleb burst to the surface coughing and sputtering. Weakly, he dragged himself to the near shore. He rolled onto his side in time to see Gabriel beating the hell out of the first mate. A shot was fired into the air from behind him, and then two of the crew were setting upon Gabriel, trying to pry him off. He'd managed to get Lewis's head under the water.

When they finally pulled Gabriel away from Lewis, they bound his hands behind his back and threw him down next to Caleb.

"He tried to kill me! You're all my witnesses!" the first mate bellowed when he'd spit up a good amount of water. Caleb listened incredulously as Lewis began to weave a plausible story. He told the men gathering that he'd suspected Caleb and Gabriel were going to abandon the ship, so he followed the two of them to make certain to bring them back. Nothing added up, but that didn't matter, it was a conspiracy

"They were buggering each other," he accused, his voice growing louder. "I caught 'em in the act, and when I did, they tried ta kill me to shut me up."

"Liar!" Gabriel screamed. "You were tryin' ta drown Caleb. I followed you!" Someone threw Caleb's pants at him and he struggled to pull them on.

"Boy! You shut up!" he ordered. "Gag 'im." One of the men stepped forward and bound a kerchief around Gabriel's mouth. He continued to protest, his face red from the effort. "I say death to them both!" Lewis thundered. His face was a mask of rage. "Tie 'im up, too!" Caleb was yanked to his feet and his arms pulled roughly behind his back. He felt the bite of the bindings being pulled too tightly around his wrists.

"With all due respect, sir, we can't be down two men until we find suitable replacements."

Caleb turned his head. Drake dropped the gun he had aimed in their direction and pointed it at the ground.

There was a disturbance in the undergrowth, and then more men poured into the clearing, including the captain.

"What's going on here?" he said, looking from Caleb to Gabriel and back again, his expression perplexed.

Lewis related the whole sordid tale once again, embellishing it further, adding more of his own heroics about how he'd managed to fight them both off, even though they'd ambushed him. The twisting of the truth made Caleb's stomach turn. The setup had been perfect; Caleb couldn't believe he'd let guard down or how much he'd underestimated Green-teeth.

The captain turned to Caleb. "You've anything to say for yourself?" His breath stank of alcohol. Caleb had little illusion that he could say anything to effect the outcome in the kangaroo court he'd unknowingly become part of. But he had to try.

"The boy wasn't involved in this." Gabriel shook his head vehemently, but Caleb ignored him. "He only thought he was protecting me."

"They both should die for their mutiny!" Lewis exclaimed.

The captain ignored them both. He paced back and forth in the clearing, muttering to himself. It was obvious he had no stomach for an execution but believed that some punishment was called for. He shook his head from side to side as he engaged in his whispered conversation.

By the time he'd finished, the entire crew had arrived. The captain questioned the men the first mate identified as witnesses -- the very same men who'd been with him when he'd attacked Caleb -- then paced some more. Finally, he stopped moving.

"That _sodomite_," he said, pointing at Caleb, "will be thrown in the brig. But not before he sees his _partner_ given fifty-lashes."

"Captain --" Caleb recognized Chance's voice, but it was shouted down.

"And both of them will be left at that island we discovered last passage!"

Lewis made to disagree, but the captain raised his hand to silence him.

Caleb's heart thumped in his chest. The captain couldn't mean the island Gabriel had explored; that would be just too coincidental. But that wasn't important, he had far more urgent a case to make.

"May I speak?" Caleb asked.

"Go ahead," the captain nodded.

"Let me stand in for the boy."

"NO!" Gabriel yelled as clearly as he could.

"That's not necessary. The boy was caught red-handed," the captain said dismissively.

Lewis approached, a crooked grin on his lecherous face. "Don't worry, _dearie_, you'll get yours. By the time I'm done with ya, you'll wish you'd been sent to your Maker." Caleb had no doubt of that, but the ominous threat meant nothing to him.

They were marched back to the beach and then brought to the ship, still bound. Caleb tried to reassure Gabriel. He rubbed their shoulders together, trying to encourage Gabriel to be strong, though Caleb wasn't sure he could be strong enough for Gabriel when the time came.

There was very little ceremony once they were on deck. Gabriel's bindings were cut, and then he was lashed to the mast and his shirt torn to his waist. He pressed his forehead against the timber.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, boy?" the captain asked when Gabriel's gag was removed.

"'E's lied about everything. We ain't lovers." Gabriel's voice was calm in the face of his sentence. Chance pursed his lips into a frown, and Caleb half-expected him to correct Gabriel's grammar. "I seen Lewis an' his mates go off after Caleb, an' I followed _'em_! He tried to drown to drown Caleb! I stopped 'im! He set --"

"See, Cap'n? The boy will say anything to avoid his rightful punishment," the first mate boomed.

Garrett stepped forward, his face twisted in anger, but Chance held him back. He whispered something to him, which seemed to calm him somewhat. Caleb's eyes darted about the crew that was gathered around the deck. To a man, everyone but the captain and the mates stood silent, forced to bear witness to the travesty of justice. Their faces were etched in varying degrees of concern and disgust, but it was obvious none of them were buying the first mate's explanation, except the captain and the other mates, who had their weapons trained on the crew.

"Enough!" the captain bellowed. "By my order, the punishment is fifty lashes, to be meted by the victim!" He stepped back, clearing the way for the first mate. Chance came around to Gabriel's face and held a piece of leather for him to bite down on.

Caleb had never witnessed a flogging and, even if it hadn't been someone he cared about, he doubted he would have been able to get through it without losing the contents of his stomach. The whip whistled through the air and made a sickening sound when it struck Gabriel's back. Caleb felt the bile rise to the back of his throat. Chance must have noticed something was amiss; he maneuvered Caleb to the side and helped him hang his head off the rail as the flogging continued.

"It will be all right," he whispered. Caleb snorted and turned back to the scene; he owed Gabriel that dignity.

Gabriel's back now was a bloody mess: a criss-cross of of red welts and streaks of blood. Still, Gabriel made no sound, even as he sank lower and lower, finally falling to his knees when they buckled. His silence seemed to enrage Lewis, who put more and more effort into each swing. Caleb couldn't decide which was worse -- the noble way in which Gabriel handled his punishment or if he'd chosen to give voice to all the pain he must have been experiencing.

The captain counted each lash, his eyes fixed upon the gory scene. He looked like a hungry dog waiting for his meal. Caleb looked around again at all the men, and then locked his gaze with the navigator's strangely-colored eyes. For a second some kind of understanding seemed to pass through the albino's expression -- a resigned sadness. Caleb blinked, and when he looked again it was gone. Somehow, though, he knew that this was the crew's breaking point. Gabriel was beloved among the men; he worked harder than most without complaint and was happy to pitch in with any chore. He never had a bad word for any of them, and it was impossible to not to be affected and infected by his natural exuberance and lust for life.

By thirty lashes, the first mate was showing fatigue, by forty, Gabriel's head lolled to the side and he listed; the only thing keeping him from falling over were the ropes that bound him to the mast. Lewis could no longer lift the whip, and Chance came forward.

"There's nothing more to be gained now, captain," he said, his voice reasonable. "I'll see to it that the prisoners are taken care of." The captain broke from his reverie, the blood-lust still evident in his expression. Spittle had formed at the corners of his mouth.

"The rest of the punishment will be carried out when the boy has come to and healed enough to stand for it," the captain announced. "Now, everyone, get back to your posts! We set sail before sundown."

Chance unsheathed a knife, and for a second Caleb honestly thought that he would drive it between the captain's ribs. But he simply cut Gabriel loose and called two men to help him lift his limp form.

"C'mon, Preacher," Garrett said roughly, his voice heavy with unspoken emotion as he guided Caleb toward the hatch.

When they reached the cell, Garrett cut Caleb's bindings and pushed him in. Caleb wheeled and try to escape, but was met by the door.

"Let me go, you bastard!" he roared, rattling the door.

"Keep ya shirt on, will you? You're safer in here than out, at the moment, an' someone needs to take care of the kid."

"What?" he asked incredulously. "Gabriel needs to be seen by --"

Chance appeared behind Garrett's shoulder. His monocle flashed in the light.

"I promise you, the safest place for you both is here. Lewis has no reason to come below-deck. I can't make that promise if Gabriel's left to convalesce in the crew's quarters.

"Besides, you're both mutineers." He offered Caleb a small smile.

The door opened and Caleb made room for the two men carrying Gabriel. They carefully laid him on his stomach on the narrow cot. Chance brushed by Caleb holding a pouch of supplies.

Gently, he swabbed out Gabriel's wounds and then cleansed them with carbolic acid.

"This is watered down," he explained, "not nearly as strong as what I used on your hand, but it will clean the wounds and offer some pain relief. We don't want to poison him." He handed Caleb a small vial. "When he awakens, try to have him drink this. It's laudanum." Caleb nodded and watched Chance dress the wounds. "The marks are clean and the wounds look worse than they actually are." Chance frowned. "But he will scar, unfortunately."

Caleb dug his fingernails into his palms and focused on Gabriel's peaceful face. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

"Look, cherry, don't get all huffy," Garrett piped in. "The kid's head over heels for you. Stop bein' a prick and pretend ta care."

"I warned him about that." Caleb shut his mouth when he saw Chance's hard stare.

"I'll be back to check on you both later," Chance said blandly, his expression softening after a moment. He slipped by Caleb and closed the door behind him. Caleb closed his eyes and listened to the lot of them as they clambered back onto the deck. In the hush that settled below-deck, Caleb paced the tiny space of the cell and listened to Gabriel's breathing become ragged. Gabriel whimpered a little as he started to come around.

"Shh," Caleb soothed, leaning over and tangling his fingers in Gabriel's hair. He gently massaged Gabriel's scalp.

"Caleb?" Gabriel whispered. He tried to move and cried out in pain. "'t hurts!" Slowly, gingerly, to the accompaniment of many gasps and curses, Gabriel rolled onto his side to face Caleb.

Caleb rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling helpless. Finally, he knelt beside Gabriel and gently caressed his cheek. Gabriel's eyes shone with unshed tears. Caleb's impotency -- his inability to take Gabriel's pain away -- enraged him; he felt wound tighter than a spinning top.

"Please stay with me."

Caleb snorted. "As if I had anywhere else to go," he snapped irritably. Gabriel winced, and Caleb immediately felt remorseful. "Sorry."

"'t's all right. I know ya don't mean it."

Caleb huffed, then uncorked the vial Chance had given him.

"Here, take this."

Gabriel lifted his head, and Caleb held the vial to his lips and tipped it. Gabriel drank the contents and then made a comical grimace. "That stuff's disgusting!" He made a gagging noise and swallowed several times. After a few seconds he added, "But it's making my insides all warm and gooey." A dopey grin bloomed on his face.

"Feeling better, then?" Caleb asked.

"Mm-hmm." Gabriel's eyes fluttered shut. Caleb settled lower, resting his arms on the edge of the pallet. It still hurt for him to breathe deeply, and he felt aches in his limbs and on his back from banging against the rocks during his underwater struggle.

Gabriel shifted. "There's enough room for both o' us, ya know," he said groggily.

"I don't want to cause you any more pain."

"You can't hurt me," Gabriel insisted. Caleb figured he could easily take issue with that, but he crawled into bed with Gabriel anyway, folding one arm underneath his head. He lay on his side, facing Gabriel. He didn't know what to do with his other hand, so he laced his fingers with Gabriel's and listened to Gabriel's labored breathing, thinking about how much he'd come to mean to him. It wasn't just the hope he'd brought Caleb. It was his unconditional affection, the way Caleb's sour moods and sharp words just rolled off him, the way he managed to see through Caleb's defenses -- and yet not expose them for the sham that they were. Caleb's heart swelled with a fierce sense of protectiveness. Gabriel had made him feel something he'd believed he was incapable of. He moved his lips against Gabriel's forehead.

"I promise you this," he whispered hoarsely. "I won't let anyone hurt you again."

* * *

"Caleb, wake up." A hand tugged at his shoulder insistently, shaking Caleb awake. For a second he imagined he'd heard a voice, until the command was repeated in Chance's voice.

It was dark out -- nighttime as far as Caleb could tell. There was a commotion on deck above his head –- men yelling and gunfire. The ship rolled as it was tacked hard. The momentum had Caleb holding onto the pallet for dear life, Gabriel groaning against him. He heard cargo sliding loose in the hold. He sat up, now wide awake. The dim lamplight outside the cell caught Chance's monocle as the door swung wildly on its hinges.

"What is it?"

"Pirates," Chance replied, his voice strained. "We need every able body."

Caleb swore and glanced over at Gabriel. The ship lurched again. "I'm not leaving him down here alone."

"Of course not, but we don't have much time to secure him somewhere safe. Let's get this on him -- quickly!" Chance was holding a shirt.

He shook Gabriel awake. "C'mon monkey, we're getting out of here," he explained to the stupefied eyes that stared at him. With Chance's help, they managed to dress Gabriel and get him on his feet. Then they push-pulled him out of the hatch, and then Chance yelled over the din:

"Secure him in my office!"

Caleb hurried Gabriel forward to the cabin area, grateful that the laudanum hadn't fully worn off.

"Stay here," he ordered. Gabriel looked at him dumbly. Caleb slapped his face and repeated his command. This time Gabriel nodded. The ship was turning again, and Caleb was slammed against the wall. Gabriel crashed into him. A cabinet opened up and Chance's supplies scattered over the floor. "Shit!" Caleb exclaimed. Gabriel's arms tightened around his waist just as an explosion shook the entire ship. Caleb peeled him off and set him on the sickbed. "Stay here," he repeated. "I'll come back for you, no matter what." He kissed Gabriel hard, forcing Gabriel's lips apart with his tongue. His hands cradled Gabriel's face as he poured all his desire, all his hope, and all his fears into it.

He left reluctantly, his heart beating a staccato rhythm and the blood roaring in his ears.

As he made his way along the narrow passage between the cabin and the side of the ship, Caleb caught a movement from the side of his eye. He was weaponless but prepared to fight. The shadow shrank among some barrels that were lashed to the deck. Coming abreast of them, Caleb was brought up short by a metallic _click!_ and then the barrel of a pistol being pointed squarely at him. It trembled uncontrollably; he could see the whites of Lewis's eyes as he cowered between two barrels.

The shot glanced off his arm, ripping the material and opening a gash as the bullet continued harmlessly out to sea. Caleb smiled murderously. He grabbed the first mate's wrist and twisted hard before he could manage to pull the trigger again. Caleb felt the bones grind under his grip as he torqued the joint further and further until he heard a satisfying _snap!_ He reached for the weapon as it dropped free and was rewarded with a heavy kick to his ribs that took the breath out of him.

Lewis went for the gun. Caleb swung a leg out and swept him off his feet. He was on Lewis then, climbing over him to get the gun before he did. The struggle was fierce. Lewis had Caleb in size and weight, and he used them to his advantage. But Caleb was faster; he came up triumphantly holding the gun. Lewis lunged at him and Caleb fired, his aim true, the bullet penetrating Lewis's forehead between his eyes. He stared blankly for a second before he began to crumble to the deck. Before he could land, Caleb pitched his body into the roiling water.

He didn't have time to relish any feelings of satisfaction. As he stole back onto the main deck, he could see that the pirates had managed to lash the two boats together. The pirate's ship was a sleek vessel –- every line on it said that it was built for speed. Its tall masts were covered with black sails that faded into the night sky. For the life of him, Caleb couldn't understand why the captain had ordered his crew to fight, rather than give the pirates whatever they were after, and he was nowhere to be found among the combatants.

As Caleb scanned the deck for him, he saw that even the navigator had joined the fray. Caleb watched him skewer a pirate with his sword as the man jumped onto the deck from his ship. Without the captain's leadership, though, the crew fought half-heartedly. Caleb stumbled over a body -- one of his crew -- a cabin boy. He'd been stabbed through the back with a large knife that was still embedded in his body and had bled out onto the deck. Caleb yanked the knife out and wiped the blade on his jeans before tucking it down the side of his boot.

He made his way unimpeded toward the lines that joined the two vessels. He wasn't sure how many bullets he had left, though he knew it could be no more than four. He mentally kicked himself for not searching the first mate's pockets before disposing of his body. Garrett materialized in front of him. He was wielding a huge hammer. Caleb watched it make a graceful arc before bashing in the skull of an intruder. He saw a pirate high in the sails on the other vessel take aim at Garrett and, without thinking, fired off a shot. The man fell from his perch like a stone. His shot drew return fire, and Caleb flattened himself against the side of the ship.

"Thanks, man!" he heard Garrett shout above the battle-sounds.

They were out-gunned and out-manned. More and more pirates were crawling across to his, and more and more of his crew were falling. He'd have to teach them all how to fight effectively, and how to shoot properly for good measure -- if they managed to survive.

Caleb took stock of the situation again. Chance and Garrett had gathered by Drake and the three were mounting a formidable offensive; if he could cut the lines held the ships fast, they might be able to beat off the attack, and then he'd try his hand at out-running the pirates. He knew what _The Whole of the Moon_ was capable of.

Caleb inched his way forward. He was almost to the first line when he realized that one of the others must have caught on to his plan because Chance, Garrett, and Drake had begun to draw the pirates towards them. He felt for the taut line with one hand and the blade with the other. The knife cut through the hemp easily, and his ship's stern twisted away. A few would-be invaders screamed as the line they'd been shimmying along crashed against the pirate vessel.

"Get the blondie!" he heard someone yell as he hit the deck again. Chance, Garrett, and Drake were now powering through the poor sods who'd taken up their challenge. Caleb pushed forward as the pirate's ship again tried to align with his vessel. He thought he heard someone calling his name but ignored it; his sights were set on the second line. Gunfire exploded over his head and someone screamed in pain as they fell from the side of the ship. He looked over to see Drake reloading his weapon.

Caleb had made it to the point where the bows were lashed together when he heard his name sing-songed again. This time he knew he wasn't imagining it.

"Oh-ho-ho, junior! I think the match goes to me."

He hadn't heard Corbin's smarmy voice in years, but it still managed to set his teeth on edge.

Caleb sighted his weapon and took aim.

"I don't think you want to do that," Corbin said laconically. He was only feet away from Caleb and was a clear shot, except for the fact that Corbin had Gabriel, his hands tied behind his back, in front of him acting as a shield. He was holding a gun to Gabriel's temple.

For a few seconds Caleb considered taking the shot anyway, but the deck behind Corbin was filled with his armed men. Caleb put his gun down by his feet.

He swallowed hard, and then wanted to laugh. He wanted to know what fates had played a hand in his life that it would come to this -- him and Corbin opposing each other. Though he supposed they'd always been set against each other, right from the time he'd first met Corbin.

"What is it that you want?" Drake asked. Corbin only laughed, throwing his head back and shaking his black mane of hair.

"You're a funny man," he said, addressing Drake when his laughter faded. "You don't have anything I want. Drop your weapons," he ordered, cocking the barrel against Gabriel.

"Let them all go, Corbin. Take me as your prisoner."

Corbin turned his attention to Caleb again. "Oh, no, no, no. Where's the fun in that?" He frowned. "I thought for certain when we met again, you'd be a worthy opponent, but it's obvious I've out-classed you. Perhaps it was the surprise ambush," he mused.

"At least let the boy go. You can have me."

"Him?" Caleb pushed Gabriel toward an opening in his ship's rail. "He's my bargaining chip. You have something I need, Cal. Are you ready to surrender it?"

"I have -- ?" Caleb tried desperately to figure out what Corbin was getting at. And then it hit him. Corbin was after the key Colt had given him. Caleb's gaze flickered over Gabriel's neck; he saw the glimmer of a chain there, assuring him Corbin hadn't discovered it. "How long -- ?" He put on his best poker face.

"I've spent years locating them, hunting them down, and then you just fell into my lap, like manna from heaven." Corbin loosened the neck of his shirt and exposed his chest. Caleb counted three keys dangling on three chains. "It'll look so good with the others, don'tcha think?" He smiled brilliantly, and Caleb was reminded how much Colt had liked Corbin.

"So we can do this the easy way or the hard way, m'dear. Hand over the key nicely and I give you back the boy. Refuse, and I'll kill him, and then I'll kill your crew one by one until you do agree." Some of Corbin's men moved to board the _Star_.

"Caleb, don't give 'im nuthin," Gabriel pleaded.

"Aww. What a faithful little pet he is -- willing to not only sacrifice himself but all his mates."

"Keep out of this, you stupid ape," Caleb growled.

"Too bad he doesn't know the stakes in our little game."

"All right," Caleb said through clenched teeth.

"There's a good boy." Corbin slipped his gun into his waistband and held out his hand. Caleb took the chain from around his neck and tossed it high into air. Corbin snagged it, then pushed Gabriel forward -- and into the water.

He raised his hand, touched to fingers to his lips and regarded Caleb in mock surprise. "Oops," he said.

"You bastard!" Caleb roared.

A mass of bubbles exploded from the void where Gabriel's body had disappeared. In a flash, Caleb was sailing through the air headfirst. He dove right into the bubbles. He felt about blindly, panicking when he could feel nothing but the water. When he ran out of his breath, he surfaced. Milliseconds later, Gabriel's head bobbed to the surface a few yards away.

"Help!" he managed before his head disappeared again. Caleb raced over. This time, though, he felt Gabriel writhing beneath the surface.

"I've got you!" he yelled as he yanked him up. A line fell into the water and Caleb began to swim toward it on his back, one arm secure around Gabriel, who was coughing and sputtering, but alive.

Above them, Garrett's head peered over the side. "I see 'em!" he cried out.

Caleb found the rope and managed to loop it around them both a few times.

"Untie … my hands." Gabriel whispered hoarsely. His teeth were chattering.

"Shark!" someone cried out. To Caleb's horror, a triangular shape loomed large behind Gabriel's head and something brushed against his legs.

"No time, Gabriel," he replied hurriedly, then he shouted to the deck above. "Pull us up, dammit!"

Above him, Corbin's voice rang out. "Well, I'd love to sit a spell and catch up with you, but I see you have your hands full." He aimed his gun at the fin cutting through the water and fired.

Caleb wrapped his arms tightly around Gabriel's waist and hugged him close, holding the rope tight. After what seemed hours, with more fins circling about them and roiling the water, Caleb felt the rope tightening. He could barely breathe as they dangled in the air, and were slowly reeled in.

He watched Corbin's ship move away, vanishing into the darkness.

* * *

It wasn't hard to convince the crew that Caleb was a fit master. It seemed that the captain had abandoned his ship. When the all the men were accounted for, both he and all three mates had turned up missing, as had one of the ship's pilot boats. They'd lost three men in the battle and four more were injured, but still able-bodied. Caleb had fought hard to keep the ship and crew safe from the pirates and then had selflessly rescued Gabriel. Chance, Garrett, and Drake -- now the highest officers on board -- stood behind him, too. Still, Caleb ordered a show of hands before he assumed the role. Once he did, he was torn between chasing after Corbin, returning with the crew to San Francisco before the captain and mates could get there and charge, or continuing on toward the island on which Gabriel had seen Colt. In the end, he decided to stay the course the old captain had set. There was no guarantee that Colt was still alive and, for all Caleb knew, Corbin had found him first. But he had to be sure.

His first official command was to outlaw flogging as a punishment; his second was to order Gabriel to bed rest until Chance cleared him to return to duty. Caleb gave Gabriel his captain's quarters for his convalescence, ordering a cot to be made up for him, though he fully intended that Gabriel would share the space with him thereafter. With the officers' disappearance and Gabriel's injuries, the crew was severely short-handed, however, there was no dearth of volunteers to take on extra chores. Over the next few days Caleb would collapse into bed, only vaguely aware of Gabriel, between 8-hour double-shifts.

Gabriel improved quickly. By the fifth day he was well enough to stroll on deck and accept all the well-wishes of his crewmates. His back prevented him from taking to the rigging, so Caleb drafted him to learn how to steer the ship, patiently teaching him the basics of manning the helm.

It felt good to have Gabriel by his side. It felt better to know that Lewis could never harm him again.

* * *

Caleb awakened to the distinct feeling of something pressing into his navel. Something warm and wet and insistent. He cracked open an eye and was greeted with the mop of Gabriel's hair. It tickled the skin of his torso, and he stifled a laugh.

"What're you doing, monkey?" he asked gruffly.

Gabriel lifted his head. His eyes held the strangest expression of hunger and happiness. "Somethin' I've wanted to for a long time," he replied. He returned to his task, this time applying some suction, and Caleb squirmed. His hands reflexively cradled Gabriel's head. "Ya want me ta stop?" he asked, his lips against Caleb's skin.

Caleb laughed again at the sensation, then ventured a ragged breath.

"No."

That earned a little nip to the sensitive flesh. A shiver ran down Caleb's spine, and he felt his prick growing hard underneath Gabriel's chest. Gabriel slid lower, leaving a trail of kisses to Caleb's waistband. He undid the top button with his teeth. Caleb let his hands wander down the sides of Gabriel's neck to the tops of his shoulders. The rest of the buttons were next, also undone by Gabriel's teeth, and then Caleb's erection sprang free. Gabriel lowered his mouth over the tip and a groan escaped Caleb's throat. He closed his eyes and let Gabriel have his way with him, felt the slow stoking of his desire. His hands clutched at the bed linens and he stifled a cry. When he thought he could stand it no longer, that he was being slowly turned inside out and every nerve exposed to the open air, Gabriel stopped. Caleb's eyes flew open.

"Thank you," Gabriel whispered.

"What the hell are you going on about, now?" Caleb looked at his prick, then to Gabriel, then back again. He wanted him to get on with it, not strike up a God-damned conversation.

"You saved my life," Gabriel replied before once again engulfing Caleb's erection.

"I--I--" Caleb was momentarily rendered speechless when Gabriel began to suck. "Was the key," he mumbled, then added, "and I owed you."

Gabriel, damn him, laughed around Caleb's swollen cock before he began sucking even harder. And then Caleb laughed, too. The feeling was amazing. Incredible. Intense. And Caleb would have wanted it to last forever if the thought that Gabriel had done that very thing to Lewis with alarming regularity hadn't intruded.

"Gabriel, stop."

Gabriel let go, and raised his head to look at Caleb, a long, thin string of saliva still connecting them. "Why? I can tell ya like it."

"But you don't owe it to me."

Gabriel's brow knit briefly. "I told ya I wanted to."

"Why did you do this with him?" The look of hurt that flashed across Gabriel's face had Caleb hating himself for even thinking about it.

"I …" Gabriel sat up and edged away from Caleb, but to his credit, he didn't look away. "At first I did it 'cause I felt dirty for liking guys. But then you told me it was all right." Gabriel dropped his eyes, then. Caleb followed his gaze and watched Gabriel's hands fiddling with the sheets, but not before his eyes slid over the toned, tan skin of his chest. Caleb had the overwhelming desire to taste Gabriel's skin, to bring him the same kind of pleasure he'd been so good at giving.

"It doesn't matter," Caleb said huskily, leaning forward. He kissed the hollow of Gabriel's chest below where the key hung and his hands traced lightly over the contour of Gabriel's sides. Gabriel shuddered underneath his fingertips.

"Yes it does!" Gabriel protested, bringing Caleb up short. He cupped Caleb's face. "Then, it was 'cause I couldn't do that to you."

Caleb looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"You was a priest!"

Caleb hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, then rubbed his temples. "_Were_," he corrected. "And now?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I figured if ya still wanted to be a priest, we'd be heading east."

"You realize your logic makes no sense?"

Gabriel set his jaw stubbornly.

Caleb swung his legs over the edge of the cot and stood up. He kicked off his jeans.

"Get undressed."

Gabriel scrambled off the bed with a chorus of _Owowow_s and hurriedly disrobed. He stood there uncertainly then, two red spots forming on his cheeks. Caleb captured Gabriel's face and he kissed him slowly. At first he was content with just the press of their lips together, but the scent of his musk on Gabriel's breath was arousing, and soon Caleb was plundering Gabriel's mouth, driven to distraction by the encouraging sounds coming from his boy's throat. And then Gabriel's hands were upon Caleb, and suddenly they couldn't get enough of each other.

They tumbled back onto the cot in a tangle of limbs, their hips locking together, thrusting rhythmically. The rub of Gabriel's erection against Caleb's was divine. He moaned softly and then louder when Gabriel bit his lower lip lightly and sucked on it.

Caleb did his best to avoid Gabriel's healing back as he maneuvered them so he was under Gabriel, but he was already looking forward to the day when they didn't need to be careful.

Gabriel sat up straight, the weight of his backside on top of Caleb's groin eliciting a groan of pleasure. He took both their lengths in hand and squeezed them together in a languid stroke.

"Gabriel …" Caleb whispered.

"Feels good, don't it?"

"Does--ohhh …" he exhaled, the correction left unfinished. He felt the moist heat of Gabriel's spend splatter on his abdomen, and then Caleb was coming too.

The release was sublime. All the aches and pains, all the dog-tiredness ebbed away as he floated on the euphoria that his orgasm had induced. He lay back, boneless; Gabriel wriggled into the crook of his arm and then snuggled his head against his shoulder. Caleb cradled him gently.

* * *

"Land ho! Land ho, Cap'n!" Garrett's voice, from high above the deck, rang out.

Caleb was out of bed like a shot. As he bent to pull on his jeans, the skin on his abdomen felt stiff where their semen had dried. He pulled on his shirt as Gabriel stirred.

"You don't have to come."

"I want to. I c'n show you --"

"Only if you're up for it."

Gabriel slipped into his pants and then took his shirt off the peg by the door. Caleb stepped into his boots.

"'Sides, I think I have something that belongs to Colt," he said as he followed Caleb out onto the deck.

**Author's Note:**

> The author does not condone the use of the derogatory term for Chinese immigrants; it was a common slur of the time period and, given Caleb's style of fighting, may have been used by his attackers, who would probably not have been able to tell the difference between kung fu and karate. By the 1850s, opium dens -- many opened in Chinatown by Chinese immigrants -- were prevalent in San Francisco. "Shanghaiing" is also a common term of the era; it is slang for forced service on a merchant ship. It was also a common practice for ship's masters to employ "crimps" -- men and women who specialized in abduction -- to find able bodies to serve as crew, especially in the years after the California Gold Rush, and before the advent of steamships. Men were drugged and/or beaten unconscious, then signed on to a crew. Often, they would wake up long after the ship had sailed and it would be months or years until they returned to their home port. Loo-Choo Islands is the 19th century name for the Ryukyu Islands. It is believed the martial art of karate was developed there. Trade was opened between the West and Japan in the latter half of the mid-19th century, so it is plausible that Colt could have visited the islands during his crossings and come into contact with practitioners. The tale of creation Colt relates to Caleb is fictitious, as are the five keys mentioned in this story, though the Five Elements that the keys represent are part of Japanese philosophy. The pyramid on the ocean floor off Yonaguni island exists, but there is dispute as to whether it is man-made or a natural formation.


End file.
